


True Alpha, the Ultimate Sacrifice

by newbie93



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a brief one-shot that picks up directly where 'Alpha Pact' (episode 3.11) left off. It's just my own take on the different possibilities and ideas that could have to do with some of our favorite characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Alpha, the Ultimate Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'd so all mistakes are 100% my own fault. I also do not own Teen Wolf in any way, shape, or form.

Her head breaks through the ice water faster than she thought was possible, especially considering she can’t feel any of her limbs. She is gasping for air and all she sees is white. She closes her eyes, shakes her head, and adjusts to her surroundings like the Argent she is. When she opens her eyes again, she’s met with chaos. People are yelling, glass is shattering, and everyone around her is a flurry of motion.

She sees Lydia bolting from one side of the room to another picking up various objects and handing them to Deaton. Stiles is hovering over the ice tub, already wrapped in a towel, muttering something that Allison can’t quite discern. And suddenly Isaac is before her, holding out his hand to help her escape the frozen prison.

She doesn’t really notice him though. She feels his presence. Acknowledges that he is wrapping her tightly in a dry towel. But she can’t quite pay attention. Her eyes are focused on Stiles’ back and she is angry that her impromptu ice bath has left her mind less sharp than usual. She knows that something is wrong, that much she can tell because Lydia’s next crossing of the floor gives Allison a perfect view of her tears, but for the life of her she cannot figure out what’s happening. Mostly it’s because nobody is choosing to fill her in.

She opens her mouth and turns to Isaac to question him when she sees that he is crying as well. The single tear running down his cheek puts Allison’s mind into overdrive and suddenly she understands. Her head whips back towards Stiles and she finally realizes that the tub he’s is standing over isn’t the one he had been submerged in minutes before.

Because Stiles was in the bath next to hers and the one he’s kneeling next to was the one with…

“No.” She barely hears her own voice but she knows Isaac’s werewolf hearing picks it up because his grip on the towel around her shoulders tightens.

“He couldn’t do it. Lydia was enough for Stiles, and I was enough for you but… but he… he wasn’t enough… Deaton couldn’t reach Scott. He couldn’t pull him back.”

She’s across the room in a second and finally has a clear view of the others. Deaton is struggling with Scott’s weight, doing what he can to keep the boy’s head above water, as Stiles sits in a stupor just talking, always talking, to his friend. She feels herself get annoyed with the boy when she hears Deaton tell him to keep going. She finally understands that Stiles, the one who talked his friend down from suicide, is doing what he can to snap Scott back into the land of the living.

That thought causes Allison to buckle to her knees.

He’s dead. Scott’s dead right now.  
Her eyes meet Stiles’ across the tub and she can see that the tears are flowing freely. His eyes are puffy bloodshot and, as she reaches into the water for Scott’s hand, she sees her own reflection looking very much the same as Stiles’.

Scott’s body slips and she sees Deaton struggle to hoist him back up. The man is fading fast and Allison assumes it has to do with the broken bottles of herbs that are scattered across the floor.

“There’s none left!” Allison’s head snaps towards the voice and she sees Lydia, always perfect Lydia, looking disheveled and unkempt. But mostly she looks lost and defeated, like she finally met the puzzle she couldn’t solve. She was thrown into the supernatural world, much like Scott, and Allison is astounded by her determination.

“What do you mean there’s none left?!” Deaton’s voice brings her back and Allison is suddenly trapped in a vocal tennis match. Her head moves left and right, a mile a minute, as her mind tries to keep up and piece all of the information together. Whatever herb Deaton is seeking is gone and it’s taken all of the older man’s hope with it. Allison watches as he slumps to the ground, arms going limp, and lets Scott slip from his grasp.

She and Stiles barely manage to stop his head from sinking below the water’s surface. “What the hell Isaac! You’re a werewolf, mind helping.” She’s glad Stiles voices what she herself has been thinking. She and Stiles are far from weak but they can only hold up dead weight for so long. Between the three of them they manage to get Scott out of the tub and onto the floor, which in Allison’s eyes, only makes things worse.

Because now Scott really looks dead. He is. His face is paler than Allison has ever seen it and the broad chest that’s always moving, because he’s always moving from one place to another trying to save people, is eerily still.

She herself is paralyzed and she can barely register that Stiles’ mouth is suddenly glued to his best friend’s. She watches him as he performs mouth to mouth. Stares as he begins the chest compressions. And remains silent. As an Argent she should correct him. Tweak his ministrations so they are as effective as possible. But she can’t focus long enough to do so. Her eyes keep flitting to Scott’s unmoving face. She can’t help wishing that the look of betrayal he wore minutes before, after seeing her with Isaac, was on his face once more. At least it would mean he were alive.

She sees Stiles’ exhaustion kick in and watches as Lydia places a hand on his shoulder to relieve him. Allison thinks for a moment that the red-head is attempting to console him but in a moment of silent conversation the two switch places and Lydia becomes as diligent in her resuscitation efforts as Stiles had been. Of course. They’re a team. This little band of misfit humans has been tag-teaming in the supernatural world from the beginning so why should they stop now?

Human. The word strikes a chord in her and she suddenly feels the need to ask what she feels is the most obvious question. “How is he the one that didn’t make it?”

She ignores the crack in her voice as Deaton regards her wearily. “I suppose… I suppose I just wasn’t connected enough to bring him back.” He’s lying. She knows it and apparently she’s not the only one because Stiles’ head snaps up and his eyes meet the vet’s. “Bullshit. Next to my own dad, you were the closest thing Scott’s had to a father.” This strikes a nerve because Deaton’s normally emotionless façade crumbles. His eyes moisten and he finally becomes the last in the room to cry for the boy on the floor. She sees from the corner of her eye Isaac trade places with Lydia and hopes that his werewolf powers will give him enough endurance to perform the necessary ministrations as long as possible. She knows her turn in the rotation is next and she doesn't think she has it in her to raise Scott from the dead for a second time.

“He’s a werewolf. If anyone should have made it, it’s him.” Though it’s a statement, Lydia’s tone is questioning. Her eyes flit to everyone in the room as though hoping someone can explain to her what was happening and why.

“He’s not just a werewolf though is he?” Stiles is glaring at Deaton now. “He’s an alpha.” Allison’s eyes snap towards Scott’s partner in crime and she is suddenly met with the memory of Scott’s red eyes from the battle that now feels as though it were years ago. She had played it off as a trick of the light but clearly Stiles knew something she didn’t. 

Deaton’s face slowly rises from his hands and he has a look of realization and comprehension. “A True Alpha….” She and Lydia share a look of confusion but Stiles just nods at the older man. “What have I done...” It’s said as a whisper as Deaton’s face morphs into a look akin to horror. “The ultimate sacrifice.”

He raises his head to meet the teens in the room and Allison can see that the tears are flowing freely now. He takes a wavering breath and Allison prepares for the bad news she knows will come. “To complete the ritual, the Darach must sacrifice individuals of the five categories. At this point you know them well. Virgins, Warriors, Healers, Philosophers, and Guardians. Well, it is said…” He pauses to catch his breath and the morsel of hope that Allison has left dissipates instantly. “It is said that in some cases, there can be one ultimate sacrifice. An individual who possesses qualities and characteristics from each one of the sacrificial categories. It’s unheard of but not impossible.”

“Like a True Alpha…” Stiles seems to have put together whatever Deaton is implying but Allison and Lydia are still completely in the dark. “The true alpha is one who rises in the ranks of power through force of will and determination. It is one who gains power, not through killing, but through moral acts.” She lets the words wash over her and her eyes return once more to Scott. Of course. He’s the best person she knows because he is completely and wholly genuine. He places others above himself and he strives to protect strangers and friends alike.  
“But what does that have to do with the ultimate sacrifice.” Lydia’s question is warranted but suddenly Allison doesn’t want to hear the answer. She fears she already knows what it will be. “The ultimate sacrifice, who falls into each of the sacrificial categories, is the True Alpha. A philosopher, strategizing to help those he loves. A healer to those who are hurt. A warrior for those who need protection. A guardian to those who need guidance and support. And a virgin, not in the general sense of the word. An alpha wolf with no blood on his hands and no need to kill.”

She feels her heart plummet because it makes so much sense. Scott encapsulates each one of those categories and does so with sincerity. He is authentically kind and she suddenly finds herself wishing that she was the one who hadn’t been revived. Because the world needs people like Scott McCall, she needs him. Of course, now that she’s finally able to admit it, he’s gone.

Isaac has long since given up and it was an unspoken acknowledgement that, if his werewolf abilities couldn’t revive Scott, all hope was lost. Allison can feel her breaths become increasingly shallow and her eyes sting once more with tears for the boy whose final look towards her was one of love and encouragement. It was the last thing she saw before being pushed under the ice and she hopes, god she hopes, that her own face mirrored his. That he saw something in her that would serve well as a final memory.

She moves herself closer to Scott and grasps his hand tightly in her own. It’s freezing. The sobs are wracking now and she collapses into Stiles as he wraps his arm around her. She can feel Lydia move to her other side, grasping her ankle for some sort of physical contact, and sees Isaac clutching Scott’s other wrist. After everything they’ve been through none of them expected to lose the one person that brought them together in the first place.

Suddenly Deaton is on his feet practically running to the cabinets across the room. The movement is so sudden and unexpected that all three teens are suddenly silent, shocked enough to pause their grieving. Allison is angry and insulted. Deaton is running around like a madman grabbing bottles, both empty and full, and moving them to the operating table in the corner. She can feel Stiles shaking beside her and she assumes it’s from anger. She herself is about to speak when Deaton whips around to face them. “I think I know a way to save him.”

The next thing she knows the four teens are surrounding the operating table watching in rapt attention as Deaton pours various things into a glass beaker. She thinks he may have lost it because at no point does he measure anything. He simply grabs a pinch of this, a handful of that, and an entire vile of the weird orange dust. He still hasn’t explained himself but his face conveys such determination and hope that Allison bites her tongue and waits for everything to make sense. She looks over her shoulder at the boy she used to, and truthfully still does, love and wishes with every fiber of her being that Deaton is right. That he can save him.

“Sacrifices are made as payment, tribute if you will, to a higher power. Scott is the ultimate sacrifice because of what he has done for others, for each of us. The only way to save a sacrificed individual, is to make a sacrifice ourselves. To repay him for what he has done. To even the playing field.” Deaton speaks slowly and assuredly but Allison still can’t fully grasp what he’s saying. Apparently, neither can Stiles.

“What. The hell. Are you talking about?” Deaton takes a measure breath and looks at all of them. “Scott is a guardian, a healer, a virgin, a philosopher, and a warrior.” He places his palm over his chest, “While I am Scott’s boss and mentor, he has taught me a great deal since coming here. To me, he is a philosopher.” The man’s eyes sweep over their faces as if hoping one of them has grasped what he’s getting at. “Lydia, he visited you in the hospital after Peter attacked to and took away some of your pain. He healed you.” Ohhhh. His gaze shifts to Isaac. “Isaac, he has given you shelter when nobody else was willing. He is in all intensive purposes, your guardian.” A sacrifice to the sacrifice. “Stiles, he has championed you time and time again. Defending you from everything from class bullies to supernatural beings. He’s your warrior.”

At this point they all understand where Deaton is going. Suddenly everyone’s eyes are on Allison and she can’t help the blush that creeps up her face as she realizes the final category applies to her. “Yeah yeah we get it. Scott was a virgin when we… you know what, I don’t think we really need to go into it.” The rest of the group has the decency to not comment but Deaton’s eyes never stray from her own. “Yes Allison. This is all true. But you are also the only person Scott has contemplated killing for. The only time his moral compass has ever strayed was when he thought you may be in danger. He hasn’t killed yet, but if ever you were in danger, he would. That’s the key to all of this.” She’s not sure how she feels about being the potential destroyer of Scott’s moral compass but she nods in affirmation and hopes that everything Deaton’s said means that Scott still has a fighting chance.

“So what do we need to do?” Isaac’s question is answered as Deaton picks up one of the scalpels lying not so innocuously on the table. The older man quickly slides the blade across the palm of his hand and lets the crimson blood drip into the concoction he’d spent the past few minutes making. The others don’t waste any more time and Allison relishes the feeling of the blade as it glides over her hand. Still human. Deaton tells Stiles to mix the substance together as he walks to the corner and picks up a blowtorch. “Man I feel like Willow.” Allison can’t help the laugh/sob that escapes her when hearing Stiles’ joke.

Deaton suddenly has a much larger knife in his hand as he kneels next to Scott and beckons for the others to join him. Allison notes that every single one of them is touching Scott in some way, just like earlier. Deaton quickly turns to her and hands her the blowtorch. She doesn’t even question it. The man glances at all of them and, for the first time since telling them his plan, he looks worried. “Alright. We have to be quick about this. I’m going to cut him open. Stiles, you MUST pour the mixture into the wound immediately. Allison, once the entire wound is covered, you need to have the flame contact every inch of the mixture. Lydia and Isaac, each of you need to hold a leg. If I’m right about this, there may be some thrashing. Do you all understand me?” They nod in unison. “Good. We killed him with ice, let’s bring him back with fire.”

And they do.

It’s a flurry of motion and, truthfully, Allison blacked out during most of it. She can’t quite remember Deaton making the incision, can vaguely recall Stiles dumping the reddish-black mix into the wound, and sees nothing but darkness when she tries to recollect her own task.

The next thing she knows, the next thing that she is cognizant of, is that her lips are on Scott’s as Stiles hugs his midsection and Lydia and Isaac are pressed against his other side. He’s completely dazed, totally incoherent, and still bleeding from the blowtorch. But Allison doesn’t care because he’s warm, and smiling, and alive. And when she pulls her face away from his, she sees that same look of love and encouragement. And she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that her own face shows the same.


End file.
